The Cure to Sherlock's Problem
by DrHoneyChuckles
Summary: Sherlock has always said that sleep was merely transport, but whether the detective likes it or not, he has to sleep occasionally. Lestrade has discovered the one sure fire way to get the detective to sleep. "A moment later, a light snoring filled the flat. Sherlock was dead asleep." Chars: Sherlock, John, Lestrade


**Hello, everyone! Just a short little one-shot (possibly a two or three shot) about the one sure fire way to get Sherlock to sleep. I have my theory. See if it matches yours? Reviews are wonderfully loved! Also, once you read this, if you have an idea on how either Lestrade or John can use this one weakness again, let me know! I'll add another chapter. ;3**

**I do not own Sherlock.**

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The case was going on nine days.

John had been trying to keep himself as well fed, hydrated, and rested as he could while on the case. Sherlock had kept him awake for two days straight before he'd collapsed in Scotland Yard. He'd slept for thirteen hours hunched over on a table while Sherlock had sat cross legged on top of the table and reviewed stacks upon stacks of paperwork. John had managed to catch some sleep here and there on a more regular basis after that. He grabbed food whenever he could. Sometimes Mrs. Hudson would have something warm cooked up.

He tried doing the same for Sherlock. He'd managed to get three pieces of toast into the man. He'd also noticed leftovers from their Chinese takeout mysteriously disappearing from the fridge.

But John hadn't seen the man sleep. Not once.

He'd started noticing the signs. Two days ago, Sherlock's pace had started to slow. The bags under his eyes were even darker than usual. Yesterday during a conversation with Lestrade he'd completely zoned out and when he'd started talking again it was on a different topic. The detective's speech had started to slur this morning and some of what he said wasn't making any particular sense. He'd tried everything. He'd even drugged Sherlock's tea. However Sherlock seemed to have realized and managed to switch his tea with John's tea without John noticing. He woke up in bed the next morning with a scowl on his face. He tried filling the flat with the smell of lavender. He tried playing those ocean wave CDs. When the ocean waves didn't work, he tried forest life ambience. None of it seemed to have any effect on the detective.

The case in and of itself was an interesting one. University professors of a certain school were being found hung upside down at the front of their classroom. There were no signs of struggle in any of the victims. The murderer would leave clues as to who their next target was and even after the professor was being protected and watched, they would end up dead. So far, each professor had taught a different subject. Sherlock had quickly gone through each professor's list of students and had tried to narrow it down to one, but none of the teachers matched all of the students. He'd started going through the staff, the other professors, everyone who was even slightly connected to the university, but everyone was turning up clean so far.

Now he was sitting at the kitchen table in Baker Street. He was staring down at a stack of papers on the table. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. John doubted the man was even reading. John was sitting across from him, going through a stack of papers of his own. John himself was relatively alert, having just woken up from sleeping on the sofa.

John was reading quietly and sipping at his hot cuppa when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up and saw that Sherlock's eyes had slipped closed. His head quickly slipped out of his hand and Sherlock jerked back upright, blinking rapidly. It took a moment for John to realize that the detective had fallen asleep. He cleared his throat before asking, "Tired?" he knew the answer. And it wasn't just because he'd seen Sherlock fall asleep sitting up. There was something else he'd just noticed.

Sherlock looked over at John with heavy lidded eyes. "No, not at all." He said stubbornly.

"Sherlock, your paper's upside down." John stated, looking down at whatever Sherlock had been trying to read. Sherlock's brow creased with confusion before he glanced down at the paper as well. He sheepishly flipped it the right direction. "You know the world's not going to fall apart if you sleep. Even for just an hour."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm fine." He stood abruptly, his chair falling backwards and landing with a loud bang. John flinched, but Sherlock seemed unfazed by it as he walked out to the living room and began to pace.

The pacing continued for two hours before Sherlock paused in front of the window. John watched him anxiously, worried about his best friend. He glanced down at his watch and frowned. If Sherlock hadn't slept since the case started, he was going on almost ten days without sleep. That made him tired just thinking about it.

"Tangerines!" Sherlock suddenly burst, turning to face John. "The tangerines are what tied them together!"

John's brow creased with worry as he examined the man. There had been absolutely no tangerines on any of the crime scenes. He'd be surprised if there was any on the entire campus. As Sherlock started into a delirious ramble, John got his mobile out and sent a text to Lestrade.

_'Sherlock hasn't slept in nine days. Help. –JW'_

The response was quick. Quicker than John would have thought. _'Nine days? That has to be a record. –Lestrade'_

_'You're telling me. How do I get him to sleep? –JW'_

_'Have you tried a tranquilizer dart? –Lestrade'_

_'I'm about too. –JW'_ John glanced worriedly up at his flat mate when he realized he'd stopped talking. He was standing close to the fireplace. His shoulders were slumped and his chin was resting on his chest, but the man was still standing upright. He'd managed to fall asleep standing up! John went to stand and his chair made the slightest of noise and Sherlock was rambling again, his tired eyes shooting open once more.

_'I think I have something. I'll be right over. –Lestrade'_

It took Lestrade half an hour to get to the flat. And in those thirty minutes John had had to talk Sherlock out of burning a curtain three times, mixing dangerous chemicals five times, and preforming experiments on John eight times.

When Lestrade opened the door, Sherlock's head snapped over to look at him. Lestrade held up what looked like a DVD. He tossed it at Sherlock. Sherlock caught it, despite his slow reflexes. "What's this?" the detective asked.

"New information came in. We got an anonymous tip that Professor Davenport was seen leaving the last crime scene around the time of the murder." He said seriously, placing his hands on his hips. "That's a recording of the man. We thought that maybe you could take a look at it. See if he's capable of murdering all those people."

Sherlock held the DVD up to his nose and took a long smell before nodding. "Yes, I believe I can do that." When Sherlock turned his back to the other two men, John shared a worried look with Lestrade. Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest and bit his lip nervously. The consulting detective inserted the DVD into the television before plopping down heavily on the sofa. He sat cross legged, putting his elbows on his knees and resting his head on his fingertips.

The DVD began to play. It was a tape of a lecture. A lecture on the differences between Newton's notation and Leibniz's notation for differential calculus. Everything on the tape was going way over John's head and they weren't even thirty seconds in. John looked over at Lestrade with a raised brow, but Lestrade merely lifted a finger in a 'just a second' gesture.

Ten seconds later, Sherlock's head fell backwards and rested on the back of the sofa. His face was completely slack and his mouth hung open slightly. A moment later, a light snoring filled the flat.

Sherlock was dead asleep.

John's eyes widened with amazement as he looked back over at Lestrade. "How'd you do that?" he spoke. He kept his voice low for fear of waking Sherlock.

"Don't worry about keeping your voice down. You could run a train through here and Sherlock wouldn't move a muscle." Lestrade had a smug look on his face. "Discovered that little quirk of his a long time ago. It was by accident. Math puts him out like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"Gee." John said and scratched the back of his head. He looked back over at the snoring Sherlock for a moment. "I'll have to keep that one in mind."

Lestrade smirked and took in Sherlock's state. "Let's get him to bed then, shall we?" John nodded and the two of them walked over to the couch. They both looped one of Sherlock's long arms around their shoulders. They picked the man up and carefully started to move him towards his room. The taller man's feet dragged behind him as the two shorter men carried him.

"Seems like you have experience with this." John huffed. He was a mere 5'6" compared to Sherlock's 6 feet. Even if the man was all skin and bones, he was still heavy.

Lestrade nodded. "I've known Sherlock a lot longer than he lets on. Don't let him fool you."

"How long does he usually sleep for? After things like this." John asked.

Lestrade shrugged. "Sometimes a whole two days." The two men carefully set Sherlock down on his bed. He was definitely out cold. John pulled his shoes and socks off before walking up to undo the next two buttons on Sherlock's shirt. The detective always had his first button undone.

Lestrade and John walked out of the room then, flipping the light off and shutting the door behind them. John huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "So was that an actual lead? Or were you just trying to get Sherlock to rest?"

"Actual lead." Lestrade answered. He took a seat at the kitchen table. "Except the anonymous tip was Davenport himself. He came in and confessed, not two minutes before you texted me."

John nodded and breathed another sigh. "Good. Sherlock will be pleased."

"No he won't." Lestrade answered.

John smiled slightly. They both knew the detective would be highly frustrated that he was unable to solve the case before the killer confessed. "You're right." And then the two men laughed. John thought this was the best ending to a case yet.


End file.
